


Occultatum

by The_Arkadian



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: Prompt from DovaBunny:"Okay so this scenario won't leave my head so I'm leaving it here... I have feelings about trans AndersFenris finds out if he has a child in Kirkwall he will get citizenship and Danarius' claim on him will be annulled and he'll formally be free. Only thing is getting a woman. Hawke is a dude, Isabella just says no way, and he doesn't want the blood mage. They're sitting around the table trying to come up with something to save Fenris when Anders softly pipes up "I can help."They stare at Anders. He says that under his clothes he is female. They just stare. Anders says 'forget I said anything' and leaves."Fenris needs to sire a child in Kirkwall in order to be legally free of Danarius. Anders has a solution. But will the elf accept?





	Occultatum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DovaBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovaBunny/gifts).



Fenris stared at the dwarf. “What do you mean - a child?” he asked slowly.

“It’s simple, elf,” replied Varric as he steepled his fingers and smiled at Fenris. “According to the laws of the city, if you sire a child whilst here in Kirkwall, you get citizenship. And as a citizen of Kirkwall, you are de facto free. I’ve checked into this quite thoroughly.” He slid a piece of parchment towards Fenris then sat back and regarded the elf expectantly. “It’s why the guards were so vehement about not letting the Ferelden refugees in - there were husbands and wives, and the moment they had a baby within the confines of the city then they’d legally be able to stay.”

Fenris stared down at the parchment. The black lettering was incomprehensible to him, but he recognised the crest of the Viscount’s office. It didn't have a seal affixed, but otherwise looked very official. There were three blank spaces on the sheet; he tapped them. “This... what is this?”

“That, Broody, would be the official document that would guarantee your freedom.” Varric arched an eyebrow. “Meaning that your former master’s claim upon you would be annulled. Effective immediately upon your child being born.” He gestured to the document. “The moment the names of yourself, the mother and the child are entered on that form and the Viscount’s seal is added, you will be officially and legally a citizen of Kirkwall and immune to any retributions from Tevinter.” He smiled. “And I could arrange to have that mansion you’re squatting in to be legally signed over to you.”

Fenris stared at the document. Legally free.... He looked up at Varric. “I have no wife. How...?”

Varric shrugged. “That part is up to you, serah,” he replied. “But you’re a healthy, virile man, you’re good-looking - what woman could resist you?”

Fenris swallowed hard. He had very little experience with women, and even less with wooing. “Where... where shall I start?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Maybe ask Hawke and the others for advice?” suggested Varric. “Bring it up at our next Wicked Grace night.”

“I... will do that,” replied Fenris slowly. He stared at the document.

***

Fenris’ mind was awhirl as he made his way back to Hightown. Free. Legally, officially free, finally beyond Danarius’ reach... and all he needed was to sire a child. 

He’d never considered the possibility of fatherhood before. He wasn't sure how he felt about the prospect of a son or daughter - a child of his own flesh. And yet... part of him was growing favourable towards the idea. A child that would represent his freedom... and the future. Something of him that would live on after he was gone.

Someone of his blood.

He’d have to clean up the mansion. It was no fit place to raise a child, and he could hardly expect the child’s mother to stay there with the building in such dismal condition. The mummified corpses that adorned the place would have to go, for a start. Perhaps the garden was secluded enough that he might burn them... or maybe Varric could help arrange to dispose of them.

As he reached Hightown, his mind was full of plans of how to render the mansion into a proper home instead of merely a roof over his head. He’d been here long enough, after all - perhaps it was time to settle. And with citizenship, he would own the mansion legally - Varric had assured him that he could arrange to have the paperwork drawn up and have it all stamped, signed and sealed within a day of the ink drying on his citizenship papers.

As he reached the mansion, his steps slowed as he was struck with the sudden realisation that he had been making plans and yet he had no woman. Worse still, he had no idea how to obtain one. How did normal people do it? 

He pondered as he slowly climbed the steps to the room he had claimed for his own, seeing anew the dilapidated state of the foyer, the scattered dead bodies, the moth-eaten and mouldy carpet upon the stairs and landing, the rotting tapestries upon the walls and the sheer filth and neglect. How could he ask any woman to make her home in such squalor, much less raise a child here? 

And he knew so few women. 

As he set his sword upon its stand beside his bed then began slowly stripping out of his armour, he mentally went through the list of women he actually knew. It was woefully short. The blood witch, he discounted immediately; though Merrill was a fellow elf, he wanted no part of her magic and the thought of touching her in _that_ way had him shuddering in horror. 

Aveline? Perhaps. Though he wasn't particularly close to the Guard Captain. Still, she had admired his prowess with the sword on more than one occasion, as a fellow warrior. She was a strong, healthy woman; and hadn't Hawke mentioned she had been married before?

Isabela? Now there was a woman who was no stranger to carnal pleasures. He pondered. She would certainly make up for his own inexperience. In Tevinter, he had only known the touch of Danarius - and on occasion, Hadriana, his apprentice. 

There was no wooing with Hadriana. The would-be magistra took what she desired, and Fenris had been merely the warm body for her to use. He had played very little part in the whole process, and it had left a distinct distaste for the prospect of laying with a woman. And as a slave, he was denied the opportunity to form attachments through a sense of self-preservation; liaisons between slaves were fraught with danger. Should a master discover that they had grown attached to each other, it would merely give them one more thing to use against you. One more leash. A silent warning: _behave, or I shall make them suffer_.

He sat back in his chair beside the newly-rekindled fire, and reached for a bottle of wine. He dreaded the thought of asking the others for advice on such a personal and delicate matter - but what other choice did he have? 

***

Isabela stared at Fenris and arched an eyebrow. “You’re serious?” she asked in disbelief. 

“Utterly,” nodded Fenris. “The only way I can be legally free of Danarius is if I sire a child.”

Isabela snorted. “Oh come on now, Fenris - do I _look_ like the maternal type to you?” She gestured to herself, then shook her head. “Forget it, sweet thing. I’m not ready to be tied down to _anyone_ , much less push out some squalling brat for them. I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to do with a baby and no interest in learning. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let _my_ freedom be the price for yours.” She sat back and took a pull of her ale.

Ears drooping, Fenris turned towards Aveline, but the guardswoman shook her head. “Sorry, Fenris, but I’m already spoken for. Donnic proposed to me only three days ago and I’ve accepted.”

There was a sudden murmur around the table, and then the others were all leaning forward to congratulate Aveline; Fenris joined them, even as he felt his heart sink. 

As the others stood around still cheering their companion and raising toasts to her upcoming wedding, Fenris sat down dejectedly and glanced away - and realised that Anders was also seated and staring pensively into his cup of cider. The abomination seemed unaware at first that he was being watched; then slowly he lifted his head and returned Fenris’ stare.

Anders glanced up at Aveline and the others, then back at Fenris before leaning forward towards the elf.

“I... I may be able to help you,” he said hesitantly, his voice quiet. 

Fenris scowled. “What help could you possibly be?” he sneered.

Anders unexpectedly blushed. “Um... well,” he began slowly, then glanced up at Hawke and the others, who were still preoccupied with Aveline and celebrating her news. He slid closer to Fenris, who regarded him distrustfully. The mage seemed uncharacteristically nervous, and yet there was something about his eyes....

Fenris leaned closer as Anders swallowed, evidently steeling his nerve. “I... I have something to tell you, but - but not here. If you come to me in Darktown tomorrow evening, I... I will explain.”

Fenris eyed the abomination thoughtfully, then slowly nodded. 

“Tomorrow, then,” he said quietly. “You had best not be wasting my time, mage.”


End file.
